


The Hunting Trip

by Josselin, Mishima



Series: Traditions [3]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M, dubiously consensual spanking in the context of a committed relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:36:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6147876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josselin/pseuds/Josselin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mishima/pseuds/Mishima
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate version of the events in The Akielon Tradition.</p>
<p>Laurent turns twenty-five and Makedon brings to Damen's attention a concerning lapse in regards to Akielon traditions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hunting Trip

**Author's Note:**

> Please see the tags for warnings!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who helped Bea and me with this draft. It is much improved thanks to Punk, Candy, Jenny, and others who read it as guinea pigs. You are all wonderful!

Everything was going poorly for Damen since Pallas’s birthday.

On the day of Pallas’s birthday, Damen had spied Laurent on the battlements watching Pallas bend over Lazar’s knee. After, Damen had climbed up the steps to the battlements to find Laurent, and speak to him, and Laurent had already disappeared. 

Later that day, when Damen finished a meeting with one of the new kyroi, Damen heard from a servant that Laurent was preparing for a hunting trip with Makedon. A selfish part of him thought -- _good, Makedon will tell him of the importance of the tradition, and spare me the speaking of it._

So when he went down to the stables to see Laurent off, he only kissed Laurent goodbye and wished him lucky hunting. 

Then the hunting party did not return. After the time they had said they would return came, and passed, Damen worried. He told the page that he wanted to be notified by the watch as soon as there was any sign of the hunting party, and then he told the page to never mind that order and Damen went up to the battlements again himself. He faced out the other direction, scanning the horizon for any sign of the hunters himself. 

Damen speculated on what might have happened to delay them. It did not seem that there was much that might harm Laurent and Makedon and a group of Makedon’s men. If there were a physical danger, the men who had gone on the trip all had many notches on their belts. And if there were some sort of trap, Laurent was sure to have seen through it. The most likely worry seemed to be that they had found the hunting good and desired to continue, or that they had overindulged in griva and were slower than expected in making their way back to the palace.

Then--standing on the battlements with his hands resting against the rock wall--the idea came to Damen. It was not the type of idea that always came to Damen, but it was the type of idea that would frequently come to Laurent, so Damen considered it carefully. Perhaps Makedon had spoken to Laurent of the tradition, and then Laurent had invented some careful contrivance for them to be delayed in their return so that they were not even at the palace on his twenty-fifth birthday. 

Upon reflection, this seemed quite likely to Damen. Laurent was probably sidestepping the tradition in the manner that he did best. Damen let his worries for the hunting party subside, and climbed the steps down from the battlements with a half-smile on his face. 

He awoke on Laurent’s birthday surprisingly relieved and contented considering that he was alone in the bed. Laurent would probably return the following day, Damen supposed, anticipating his return with pleasure. He thought of several ways he would like to touch Laurent when Laurent was back in front of him. 

Then, Laurent returned early. Damen heard horses’ hooves on the cobblestones of the courtyard just as the evening meal was beginning to be served. The dogs barked, excited to be back at home. 

The men from the hunt joined the meal late; Laurent was not with them. Damen leaned over to ask one of the pages to find out where the king was, and was informed that there was a problem with the king’s horse, and the king was in the stables. 

Did the exalted wish for the page to fetch the king? 

“No,” Damen said, quickly. 

No, Damen expressly did not wish for anyone to fetch Laurent. For all Damen knew, the horse’s ailment was part of Laurent’s plan for sidestepping, and Damen did not wish to interrupt the plan.

Makedon was seated at the dinner table already, returned from the hunt and eyeing the mutton with a severe expression. 

“How was the hunt?” Damen directed the polite inquiry to Makedon.

Makedon turned his expression Damen’s direction, ignoring the mutton and the rest of the table. He stood up from the bench the eaters were using. “Exalted,” Makedon began. A feeling of dread began to form in Damen’s stomach. “I must raise to your attention a concern about tradition.”

Men paused in their chewing to turn their attention toward Makedon, setting slices of bread back down on their plates and craning their heads.

“About tradition,” Damen forcibly kept his voice mild. “Surely it can wait until we are finished eating.”

“Our traditions bind us together as a people,” said Makedon, which Damen supposed meant that he did not agree this could wait until they had finished eating. 

Then Laurent entered the hall. 

The hall grew quiet. The remaining talk of the men faded out slowly, as they either started to realize what was unfolding in the front of the hall or were quieted by their friends. Damen tensed. 

Laurent walked up the aisle through the tables toward the high table. Inexplicably, though the other hunters were still wearing their riding leathers, Laurent had taken time to change between the stables and the dinner hall. He was dressed in a chiton and sandals, and the hall had grown quiet enough that Damen could hear his footsteps as he approached.

Laurent appeared collected. He looked around the hall coolly, as if it were only mildly notable that Makedon were standing in the middle of the dinner hall and all of the men were silent and watching him.

“Is the mutton bad?” said Laurent. He had reached the high table next to Damen.

“Exalted,” Makedon began again with renewed emphasis. He’d gestured to one of his men and they had taken the low stool that usually sat in the courtyard and set it up near to the high table. 

Damen had seen other men who refused to go gracefully to the chair. His brother Kastor had been one of them, insisting that it was beneath a prince’s dignity to be thrown over a guard’s lap. Kastor had made an appeal to their father Theomedes, sitting at the head of the hall where Damen sat now. His appeal had been full of hubris, and Theomedes had heard it out, and then said, “Take him,” and gestured with a casual wave of his hand for the guards to manhandle Kastor. 

It had required four of them to grab him and hold him in place. Theomedes had watched implacably. When Kastor had struggled, Theomedes had stroked his beard and said, “Disappointing.” The guard had used his belt for the final five blows on Kastor’s behind, and Theomedes had laughed approvingly and said to Damen, “Let that be a lesson to you.”

It was a lesson that Damen never forgot. When Damen’s own turn had come, he had followed the tradition willingly and with the same good humor most men displayed, not wanting to disappoint his father. He’d picked his friend Nikandros, spoke to Nikandros privately, announced his pick in advance as was tradition, and then laughed and joked as he walked to the middle of the courtyard to take his place. 

Makedon turned his attention from Damen to Laurent. Damen wondered what had passed between them during the trip. “Your Highness, “ said Makedon, gesturing from Laurent to the chair. “Whenever you are ready.”

Laurent ignored him.

He was a Veretian, after all. Damen wondered if the guards would drag him over to the chair in the same fashion they might one of the Akielon soldiers who decided to shirk his duty. Makedon or another of the men with notched belts who were bold enough to lay hand on Laurent were not to find Laurent going quietly. Damen could tell that Laurent had at least one dagger at his belt. And if they did grab him, there were enough members of Laurent’s personal guard in the audience that it could turn into an ugly brawl. 

Even if they all just let the moment pass and Makedon sat down again, the men would resent his unwillingness to participate all the same. It wasn’t what Laurent would want, even if he were ignorant enough of Akielon tradition to realize it. Damen remembered how Laurent once drank six cups of griva not to offend Makedon. He needed to act.

Damen stood up. Laurent’s eyes flicked his direction. Damen assessed Laurent standing next to his bench at the high table, and Laurent’s position, and how his weight was balanced. His assessment completed, he moved quickly, like a lioness pouncing on unsuspecting prey, and swept Laurent up into a carry position over his shoulder. 

Damen could tell that it took a moment for Laurent to register what was about to happen. Laurent tensed when Damen grabbed him, and then he flailed to make himself hard to pick up, but by that point Damen already had his arms pinned. 

“Damianos,” Laurent said warningly as Damen carried him across the hall. 

The men knew where this was going, now, and were cheering or hooting.

“You’ve survived worse,” Damen said.

“Have you?” said Laurent.

“I’ve survived you.”

“Not for long,” Laurent muttered. Damen suppressed a smile. He was certain that Laurent would have his revenge for this, likely in as public of a forum as he could manage. Knowing Laurent, he could arrange to summon all of the countryside simply to witness whatever form of humiliation Laurent arranged for Damen.

Then Damen was seating himself on the stool, and Laurent chose that as his moment to attempt to break free. 

Damen had anticipated this, and he twisted, and used Laurent’s own momentum to swing Laurent into his lap as he sat. He arranged Laurent over his right leg, using his left to subdue Laurent’s legs, and he kept Laurent’s hands pinned behind his back and rested some of his weight on his forearm on Laurent’s back to show that struggling was futile.

“You’re going to regret this,” said Laurent.

“I already do,” Damen grunted.

Laurent made a single tense jerk against Damen’s hold before subsiding. He seemed to have given up on words in favor of an icy glare over his shoulder at Damen. 

That was easier to ignore. Damen moved his eyes from Laurent’s face to his behind. Bent over on Damen’s lap, the chiton Laurent was wearing was riding up, barely covering his bottom, the curve of his ass almost exposed. Feeling like a man about to bare his neck to the sword, Damen took one deep breath, braced himself, and lifted it.

Laurent’s ass was as pale as the rest of him. The muscle perfectly sculpted, like one of the marble statues from his mother’s garden, the skin smooth and unmarred. Once Damen’s palm struck it, it would take no time for it to start coloring. Damen ran his hand over it tenderly. He started.

Damen felt as though his arm raised and lowered without him consciously moving it. He could hear the slap of skin together. On his lap, Laurent made no reaction; he might have been that stone statue. Though his skin was hardly stone. It was flesh, yielding and pink where he struck. 

Most men faced the tradition good-naturedly. The halls and courtyard were usually filled with laughter and teasing. Judging by the lack of encouragement coming from their audience, Damen guessed Laurent’s glare was full of poison. Jord was watching it all unfold in front of him, his eyes wide and his mouth comically hanging open, torn between helping Laurent and watching him get spanked. The bravest men smirked, the rest of them only counted. Damen didn’t draw it out. 

When the count finished, Damen released Laurent. He moved his leg, first, freeing Laurent’s legs to come back under him, and then he shifted his weight off of Laurent’s back and freed his wrists more slowly. 

Makedon frowned seriously. “It is good,” he pronounced.

Laurent stood with the dignity of an offended cat.

He didn’t speak. His hair somehow managed to be completely composed. His eyes were on Damen but Damen couldn’t read his expression. Laurent turned and left the hall.

The atmosphere of the meal changed after Laurent had left. Makedon seated himself again, still frowning but satisfied. Men laughed nervously. Nikandros poured Damen a glass of wine, and he pushed it away in favor of a shot of griva. Then a second one. 

The congratulations that would normally be offered to Laurent, were then given to Damen. The soldiers praised his courage; his friends asked him if he enjoyed celibacy.

Damen grimaced. Perhaps he should leave the palace for a while, go on an extended hunting trip, holiday in Vere, something to put some distance between himself and Laurent while he waited for Laurent to cool down.

But Laurent was not really the type of man whose anger lessened over time. Laurent bore grudges; they drove him. 

With that thought, Damen gathered his courage again, had a final shot of griva, and left the hall amidst a litany of shouted suggestions about what Laurent was going to do to him.

Damen slowed as he approached their shared chambers, his footsteps falling more slowly on the marble tile of the hall. 

He slowed even further as he opened the door to their chambers.

The room was dark. He didn’t see Laurent at first.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke into the darkness of the room. 

He took a tentative step into the room, and let the door to their chambers fall shut behind him with a click.

“Please let me try to make it up to you.”

He saw Laurent finally, standing in the darkness near the window. The breeze from the open window teased his chiton with the same gentle waves it spread the curtains. Laurent might have been a marble statuary. He wasn’t wearing any sandals.

“I’m sorry,” Damen said again. He took a step toward where Laurent was standing. “I’ll let you hit me to make up for it.”

“In front of the hall?” Laurent said coolly.

Damen grimaced. “If you want,” he said.

“I don’t want that,” said Laurent, which was worse than if he had said yes. 

“What do you want?” said Damen. He thought about going to his knees. He took another step closer to Laurent. 

He went to his knees.

Laurent took a step his direction. “Do you want to know what I want?”

“I’m sorry,” Damen said again. “I -- should have thought --”

Laurent interrupted him. “Is that the best use for your mouth right now?”

Laurent was standing in front of him. He reached for Damen’s face with one finger, tracing the line of his jaw. His thumb was resting on Damen’s bottom lip when Laurent tipped Damen’s head up.

Damen opened his mouth willingly. Laurent pressed his thumb inside, a light pressure on Damen’s tongue. Damen closed his lips around Laurent’s finger.

Laurent’s gaze was fixed on Damen’s lips. When he took himself in hand, it was with calm, deliberate strokes, his thumb fucking Damen’s mouth at the same pace. Damen’s face was so close to Laurent’s groin Damen could see the small drop of liquid resting on the tip of Laurent’s cock. Damen wanted to lean forward and taste it.

When Laurent removed his thumb from Damen’s mouth, Damen tried to lick Laurent’s cock, only to have Laurent’s hand firmly fisted on his hair, holding him in place. “None of that,” Laurent said. Damen gave a short, choked-off breath.

Laurent used his grip on Damen’s head to angle his face up. Damen’s mouth was parted, his eyes fixed on Laurent’s arousal. Laurent started to stroke himself again, the head of his cock brushing Damen’s mouth, spreading the saltiness there all over his lips. When Damen tried to capture the head of Laurent’s cock again, Laurent slapped his cheek in warning.

Laurent ran his thumb over Damen’s bottom lip one last time before slipping it between Damen’s lips again. 

Laurent kept touching himself with long and steady strokes. When Damen looked up, Laurent was watching him, his gaze unwavering.

Damen realized suddenly where Laurent was going. He sucked hard on Laurent’s thumb and closed his eyes.

He could feel Laurent come on his face in pulses. Laurent gave a single bitten-off groan, which was more reaction than he had had during the spanking in the hall. 

Damen opened his eyes in time to see Laurent’s fingers reaching toward his face, and he closed his eyes again as Laurent smeared his fingers along Damen’s skin. Laurent’s fingers trailed down his cheek and found the corner of his lip. His fingers tugged Damen’s mouth open and then penetrated. They tapped the roof of Damen’s mouth. Damen sucked on them obediently.

Laurent removed his fingers and let his hand fall to his side. Damen felt their loss acutely. Laurent’s come was still cooling on his face. 

Damen raised one of his own hands toward Laurent. “Let me touch you,” he said. He was almost begging. 

“Do you deserve that?” Laurent asked, somehow sounding collected.

“No,” Damen admitted. “I’m sorry, please, let me--” he switched to Akielon. “I need to touch you, please, forgive me.”

Laurent bent over slowly and pressed his lips to Damen’s forehead, then to his left cheek, to his right cheek, and then to his lips.

“Yes,” Laurent said. 

 

Damen caught hold of Laurent’s hand and tugged him down to his knees as well, pulling Laurent to tumble half on top of himself, gathering Laurent into his embrace on the floor.

Laurent laughed, suddenly. It was a joyous sound, and it echoed around the chambers. 

Damen felt a sudden rush of relief, and he smiled. Laurent’s smile lingered after his laughter died away. He used his thumbs to wipe off Damen’s face. 

Damen tugged Laurent in to kiss him briefly. 

“There’s another thing,” said Laurent.

Damen tensed. “What’s that?”

“You didn’t finish.”

Damen looked at him, not comprehending.

“I only counted twenty-four strokes,” said Laurent. “You didn’t finish.” Laurent’s face was turning the slightest bit pink. “I’ve heard that’s terribly bad luck.”


End file.
